Work Text:
Fire crackled in the hearth. There was always a fire, in Tori’s house. It might’ve been stifling to someone with a little more skin than him, but as it was, he just appreciated the white noise.
Orange noise? Eh, That joke would need some refining before he fired it at her. Heh.
Point was, there was no more peaceful spot, on the earth or under it, than the armchair in front of Tori’s fireplace.
The brown upholstery practically swallowed him, but that was a pro rather than a con. Papyrus couldn’t call him in to help with dinner if he couldn’t see him. Also, Tori found it adorable when he curled up to sleep between the arms of the chair. If he was lucky—and if she was convinced he was unconscious—she’d place a quick kiss on the top of his skull.
Tori was already in bed, now. Papyrus and the kid too. Sans had his own room in the combined skeleton-boss household, but the chair was comfier. The fire sounded like slippers crunching through the snow, or like the quiet popping of knuckles, or like teeth chewing undercooked spaghetti. Y’know. Comforting things.
In the fireplace, something popped. Eh, maybe that was a bit loud, but it wasn’t bad. Water balloons popped when he threw them at Undyne’s spiked fins. It was a solid noise. He’d give it seven out of ten stars.
Pop pop FWOOSH— the fire blazed hot and bright enough that Sans could feel it with his eyes closed.
He wiped a hand down his face, sitting up groggily.
The fire was spitting and shuddering, like Grillby when he had a cold.
…Did Tori have a cold?
Sans slipped off of the chair, slippers soft on the hardwood. The fire reached for him—flames licking at his ankles like that annoying dog. He jumped back and stomped his feet until the embers on his slippers were snuffed out.
Maybe he should bring Tori a glass of water?
One stop at the sink later, Sans clipped through Tori’s door.
He was promptly greeted with a fireball to the chest.
“C’mon, Tori.” He dumped the glass of water down his front. “That was my favorite shirt.”
It was hard to see past the cloud of steam, but he could hear her ragged breathing just fine.
“Sans?” she finally asked. “I am… oh, I am so sorry…”
Dang. Things must be bad if she was apologizing instead of teasing him about his shirt, which was identical to all of his other white shirts.
“‘S okay. I can borrow one of yours, right?” He stepped over to her closet.
Comforting wasn’t his strong suit. He didn’t fit in any suits, really. The shoulders were always too wide, and the ties were too long.
Tori’s black t-shirt was too long too, but at least it had a good joke on it. Stop staring at my mussels. A pile of clams were drawn in the middle.
“Whaddaya think?” He pretended to flex.
Papyrus had shown him how enough times, and he thought it was pretty convincing. Even if the ‘short sleeves’ covered him up to his forearms.
Tori let out a wet snort. She’d turned on the bedside lamp by now, so he could easily see the tears soaking her fur.
“It is… well, I suppose it could make a cute dress.” She smiled a little.
“Great. Dress means I don’t have to wear pants.” He grinned back.
Tori wiped her face, her paw steaming a bit as she did so. Oh, yeah.
“So, uh… any particular reason you’re even hotter than usual tonight?” he said before realizing how it would sound.
(Well.)
His gaze skirted away from the tank top strap slipping down her shoulder.
(He wasn’t wrong.)
She burst out in the roaring laugh that he loved.
“If you cannot handle the heat, you should get out of the kitchen.”
“Good thing I’m not in the kitchen, huh? Unless you’ve baked some pies in here I don’t know about…” He lifted up the edge of her purple comforter, pretending to look for baked goods.
Instead he was eye level with thick, ivory-furred legs. He might have stared a little longer than necessary.
“Hmm. Perhaps you should check this side.”
She scooped him up in one paw. His slippers fell to the carpet as she dropped him on the mattress beside her.
“Uh.” His ribcage felt warmer than when she’d thrown a fireball at it. “No pies here, either.”
“Oh, how disappointing.” She gave an exaggerated frown. “You are welcome to leave, then, if you would like.”
She leaned back, her left arm stretched across the pillow beside her. He knew her well enough to read the invitation.
“Nah. This is comfier than your chair.” He rested his skull in the crook of her elbow.
She was warm. She was always warm, but either she was hotter than usual, or… heh. Or it was all in his head.
Her smile was even softer than her arm.
“Thank you, Sans,” she said quietly. Sincerely. Another suit that he couldn’t fill.
“Hey, I’m the one who should be thanking you. For the armrest, I mean.” He patted her bicep, and she laughed.
“And for the shirt,” she added, smoothing her other paw over the front of it.
Each of his ribs tingled at her touch. He swore that she’d see them through the black of the shirt—each of them glowing with neon light, like cracked glowsticks.
“For the. Yeah.”
Her paw froze near the end of his sternum.
“Is this alright?”
The direct question caught him off guard. This wasn’t how they did things. They danced around anything solid, like their feet were on hot coals.
But she’d done the hard part. All he had to do was give a one-word response. He was great at those.
“Yeah,” he said, stupidly breathless for someone without lungs. “Yeah.”
Two words. One over par. That would count against him if they were playing golf.
She pulled him closer, nuzzling against his shoulder.
Oh.
“I suppose I must appear clingy tonight.” Her breath puffed warmly against his spine. “And I did not answer your question. About why I am ‘hot.’”
“Hotter than usual,” he corrected, and was rewarded with a laugh that rolled over him in gentle waves.
“It was a simple nightmare. Nothing I could not handle alone. However… the company does not hurt.”
“The company does hurt,” he joked, lifting up Tori’s shirt to reveal the hole seared into his beneath.
He’d expected her to laugh with him, but instead she looked away in embarrassment.
“That was irresponsible of me. As was my outburst with the hearth, before.”
Sans’s browbone furrowed.
“So you knew you were doing that? Messing with the fire?”
“Not consciously.” She sighed. “You are perceptive, Sans. Surely you have noticed that the flames are in tune with my emotions.”
He had. It was why he’d come to her room in the first place.
“This happened somewhat often when I was alone in the Ruins. Nightmares. Uncontrolled magic. I had thought that I was past this, but I still should have warned you. You always sleep so close to the fire.” She frowned.
“Yeah, well. It’s cozy. About the closest thing to sleeping with you.”
He snapped his jaw shut. He was like a glowstick, and all his stupid-fluid was leaking out.
But Tori smirked, before bringing her lips close to his collarbone.
“Is it, now?”
“Nah,” he corrected. “I’m pretty sure your chair doesn’t flirt with me.”
Because that was what they were doing, right? What they’d been doing for as long as he could remember. They slid into familiar banter like he slipped into his favorite slippers.
Tori giggled.
“Well, for tonight, at the very least, you will not have to settle for the chair.”
She kissed the bottom of his jaw.
“Goodnight, Sans.”
She tucked him under her chin, like he was a slightly-larger-than-average teddy bear. Her arm draped over his hips. Her knees scrunched up, brushing the soles of his feet. He could’ve been one of those plastic classroom skeletons, for how little he dared to move.
But soon her snores rumbled like the crackling fire. As if having Sans in her bed was the most normal thing in the world.
He smiled, adjusting himself to better curl into her.
(Maybe it could be.)